This Lifetime. | Edward Heffron

IV.

"He called you eggs?" Amelia exclaimed, turning around quickly. Her grandmother calmed her down with a hand and tugged on the braid forming on her head. Turning back around, Amelia asked, "What happened next?"

Eleanor had returned the next day, as promised. And the next. And the next. Each day, Babe would see the basket of eggs in her arms and would let out a good laugh, but he always paid for them and asked her to return with more.

The two sat now on the field, Babe stretched out on his back, and Eleanor with her knees to her chest, playing around with a twig she had found on their way there. "Summer's ending," she whispered, eyes towards the never-ending horizon of fields that were no longer as vibrant. "School's going to start."

Her voice had a twinge of sadness. School starting meant she would no longer have afternoons to spend with him. "That's right," Babe's voice interrupted her thoughts, "Can't wait to see you in school and pretend we don't know the other exists." Though Eleanor knew it was a joke, the mere idea of pretending their days spent on the fields never happened upset her.

"Never," she frowned, tapping his long legs with her stick, "So you're definitely going to school with us?"

The young man simply hummed in response, bringing his arm over his eyes to shield it from the sun. Eleanor smiled, trying her best to remember what was in front of her. His hair looked especially vibrant now, his body peaceful. She blinked twice, pretending to take a picture. Hopefully, she would remember this forever.

"Do you have any plans for school?" Babe suddenly asked as he felt her stand.

Eleanor dusted off her skirt, looking down at the young man, looking boyish as ever, "A few. I want to be editor for the school paper." She nudged him twice with her foot, urging him to stand. As she helped him up, she asked, "What about you?"

"Probably the football team," he shrugged, taking her hand in his and pulling himself up. He noticed the red tinge on her cheeks but chose to ignore it anyway, "Except ma' won't let me." When he noticed the quizzical look on her face, Babe continued, "My hands," he gestured, waving them, "Sometimes they curl up into themselves and hurt like hell."

Eleanor never saw it happen, but from the look on his face, she decided not to ask him further. The two walked side-by-side towards a lake near the opening of a nearby forest. She noticed him looking down at his hands, curling and uncurling his fingers. "Hey," he stopped suddenly, pointing a finger at her. "You better not tell anyone about my hands, alright? I'm gonna play football regardless of what ma' says."

Eleanor grinned, lifting up two hands in surrender, "Your secrets safe with me, Babe."

They continued walking in silence, finding their way to the small lake. Taking off their shoes, they sat at the edge, dipping their feet in the water. "I want to be a writer," Eleanor whispered. Babe tilted his head, questioning. "You told me a secret. I'm telling you mine. I want to be a writer."

"That's a good secret, Eggs." The two sat there, shoulder to shoulder, their feet wading in the clear blue water. As the sun began to set, the two picked up their shoes, tried their best to dry their feet, and walked back through the field towards his house.

When they reached his front door, Babe smiled. "Two dozen again tomorrow?"

Eleanor nodded eagerly as he stepped back into his house. "Wait," she called, and he paused by his door, "I have a question for you."

He looked inside before stepping back out, standing in front of her. They were so close she could see the brown speckles in his eyes. Babe looked at her expectantly.

"Do you have eggs for dinner every night? Because you buy nearly two dozen every single day." Babe simply laughed and told her to go home.

And so she brought him eggs again the next day. It was only when he told her 2 years later that she realized he just wanted to see her.